


nothin' but the rain

by norefinedsugar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Han Solo Lives, Leia Organa Ships It, Mechanic Rey, Minor Leia Organa/Han Solo, Pilot Rey, Redeemed Ben Solo, Shirtless Kylo Ren, Space Mom Leia Organa, War, pilots in lurv
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norefinedsugar/pseuds/norefinedsugar
Summary: {star wars/reylo in the battlestar galactica verse, don't think you really need to know much about bsg to follow along!}Rey just got offered her dream job as a pilot on board the Battlestar Millennium Falcon. Okay, so maybe they're in the middle of a war against an advanced robotic army and they're on half-rations but still...Guess who her flight instructor is?Ben Solo, the Commander's hot-tempered son.This is fine.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk if i'm gonna continue this in any meaningful fashion but it was fun to write! i used an apollo/starbuck scene as inspo (obviously), but i would not use many other callbacks if i decide to go forward with this. SO SAY WE ALL.

The air on the ship was heavy with anger and mourning. Two pilots had been reportedly hit by Cylon riders. Two of their best. There was no DRATUS contact with the X-Wings they had been flying, meaning the ship’s Combat Information Center had no way of contacting them to send a rescue team to their location, on the off chance either was still alive. It was a heavy loss, two pilots and two X-Wings down with them. They didn’t have the materials to build many new starfighters and certainly few ace pilots to spare. 

“This never gets easier,” Commander Han Solo was saying, his voice full of emotion. “We just get better at dealing with the grief. Lieutenant Paige Tico and...my son, Captain Ben Solo have been shot down by enemy raiders while on a routine patrol.” 

Among the audience, flickers of many different emotions passed across the faces of the pilots and officers listening to Commander Solo’s address. Ben had few friends among them and as the CAG, often let his temper get away from him to the detriment of his role as a leader. Most in the audience had been told off by him and a fair number of them were well acquainted with the sight of his fist aiming for their face. 

These were not the kinds of things Rey was thinking about. 

“This serves as a lesson to us all,” Solo continued. “To never let our guard down and to be ready to attack at a moment’s notice. And to always,  _ always _ shoot first.” He lifted his hand up in a salute, which was quickly echoed by all in the room. He did not shed a tear or seem moved by these deaths in particular. He was emotional when he lost any crew member of his beloved Battlestar Millennium Falcon. Variations of this speech had been given fortnightly at least, in the months since the Cylons’ nuclear detonations on their home worlds. 

With the Commander gone, Rey felt as though she’d been holding in a breath and suddenly gulped down fresh air. She was like a daughter to Commander Solo, he’d said it on enough occasions. Certainly, she was closer to him than Ben had been lately. Her eyes stung with tears. Ben was one of her oldest friends on board. Well, friend was a bit of a contentious term. Still, they’d meant something to each other. 

Rey quickly blinked back her tears before any fell. She looked around at the circle of her colleagues, dispersing back to their work with slumped shoulders. Each pilot lost felt like one spark of hope extinguished. It felt like it brought them ever so much closer to losing this hard-fought war. Then she stopped thinking of herself and instead thought — Rose. 

Collecting herself, Rey started dashing around the port hangar bay, looking for her friend. Rose worked maintenance on the ship, just like her. Rose Tico’s short stature was always hard to spot in a crowd. Rey looked in every direction and even under every X-Wing, to no avail. She hurried out of the hangar, her work for the day forgotten, and went off in the direction of the duty lockers, where they both slept. 

The cramped room slept 10 officers — Rey, Rose, Ben, and Paige among them. There was little room for privacy on the Falcon and only the highest ranking officers had their own quarters. Everyone else, including Ben Solo, the CAG, who was responsible for the Air Wing operations, slept in bunks. It was a dark, sloping room, brightened by harsh artificial lamps over each bunk bed. There was a small table in the middle, haphazardly surrounded by chairs, with a couple of tin mugs and loose cutlery abandoned on top. The first bunk on the left belonged to Paige and Rose. There, curled up on Paige’s top bunk, Rose quietly wept as she rocked back and forth. 

The duty lockers usually had one or two officers inside, taking a break or sleeping it off, but Rey found Rose alone. The Tico sisters were beloved on the ship and Rey felt her heart swell over the losses they’d sustained that day. Again, she pushed Ben Solo from her thoughts and focused on her friend. 

Rey courteously knocked as she stood in the doorway. “Rose? Can I come in?” 

From her high perch, Rose flipped herself over to face the intruder of her isolation. She was hiccuping back tears and her eyes were bloodshot. Rey tried to give her a brave face in return. There was no handbook telling her what to say to someone who had just lost their sister. 

“I guess you heard,” Rose said finally. Rey could see now that she was holding a framed photo of her and Paige tightly against her chest. She knew the picture well, as it occupied precious space in Rose’s bunk. It was the two sisters, looking slightly sweaty, with big, cheesy grins and faces pressed against each other. It was so clearly from the before times — before the nuclear attack, before the second war — that it made Rey’s heart ache. Even if she didn’t have much of a life of her own before to miss. Paige was wearing her dark green flight suit and Rose was in the deck crew’s bright orange. 

“I am so sorry, Rose. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. Anything I can do to help, just say the word.” Rey walked up to the Ticos’ bunks and leaned over Rose. Rose gripped her proffered fingers. The sorrow on her sweet face, the face so quick to smile or laugh, was too much to bear. 

“I just can’t believe she’s gone.” Rose’s lower lip quivered. “She was a hero. She protected us from the Cylons.” 

“She was the most heroic person I ever met,” Rey echoed. The pair sat in silence, each thinking of their own memories of Paige. 

It was then that an announcement came over the speaker system. They were frequently part of the background noise, but both stopped to listen, just in case.  _ “Specialist Rey Jakson, report to the port hangar bay _ .” 

“Frak, they’re on to me,” Rey joked. This earned a small smile from Rose. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? I’ll try to finish up early and see if the Chief will let me go. It might be busy there, though, with all the....” Rey’s voice trailed off. There would likely be extra work, finding parts to try and build a new X-Wing or repair one of the older ones that were lying around in disarray, since they’d lost two that day. And two pilots. 

“Thanks, Rey.” Rose turned over again to face the wall, bringing the photo of her sister close to her face. “You’re a good friend.” 

Rey quickly sprinted back to her abandoned work. She was a specialist on board the Battlestar Millennium Falcon and probably their most skilled repairperson, albeit largely untrained. Before the Cylon attack on Chandrila, she planned to spend a few years working at the bottom and saving her credits. From there, she hoped to get into flight school and become a pilot. Back on the ground, she would sneak into the flight simulator late at night to get some practice air time. Flying, even fake flying, just felt right. 

Alas, her plans had been skewered by a few nuclear mushroom clouds and the deaths of most of the human population. She was happy to pull her weight where it was most needed — repairing the ancient X-Wings which were able to fly without having their transmissions jammed by Cylon ships. 

“Rey, get back to work! I need that engine repaired _yesterday_ ,” Snap Wexley barked as she sprinted past, a flash of orange. 

“Sorry, Chief!” Rey shouted over her shoulder. “It’ll be done today, promise.” 

Some hours later, Rey was lying on her back on a mechanics creeper. Her hands were deeply wedged in the fuel access port and her face was considerably sweatier and dirtier than before. Unseen to her, a figure approached with heavy steps. Her mouth stayed knitted with concentration. 

“Hey.” 

It was a familiar voice. A voice she’d heard angry and jubilant, bored and sarcastic. But it couldn’t be. That voice belonged to a ghost. 

From her low vantage point, she was able to stretch her head and see who it was. The same long legs and wide frame, clad in the flight suit she’d seen him wear a thousand times. It was the pale facing, stretching into a cheeky grin that made her breath catch. The unkempt dark hair, falling across his face. Rey’s eyes stayed on him, not daring to look away and have this all be a manifested delusion.

She dropped the tool she was holding and used the creeper to slide closer to him. Rey extended her hand or maybe he leaned down first to pull her up. Either way, their hands were touching and he was real, no ghost or apparition or byproduct of too many stims. 

Their hands stayed locked as Rey let out a first shaky breath, then another. 

With a hard voice, she said flatly, “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

“You’re supposed to be in the rec room. Everyone else is.” Ben Solo was still smiling. It was a wonderful sight. His dark eyes were as mischievous as ever. Their hands were still joined and Rey felt as if her palm was getting hotter by the minute. 

She realized the meaning of his words. She looked around briefly and saw the hangar room mostly cleared out for the day, save a few marines on duty. 

“Well, it’s good to be wrong sometimes. I wouldn’t want to be thirty credits deep in a bad hand of triad anyway.” Rey felt a smile dimpling across her face. Her hair was wild and piecey, escaping from her signature three buns. She felt oily and damp. Or maybe she felt like this was the best day of her life, and the best feeling her heart had ever known, and she couldn’t take anymore of it and she couldn’t stand for it to be over. 

“I live to see another day, fight another toaster, and beat you with a three on a run,  _ again _ ,” Ben shot back. Their hands finally slipped apart and neither could tell exactly who pulled away first.

“Does the Commander know that you’re alive?” Rey couldn’t help but ask about Ben’s father, even though she knew it would surely extinguish the happy mood that existed between them. 

He shook his head. Rey was dimly aware he was making much more eye contact than was strictly necessary. She supposed almost dying could do that to a person.

She tried not to draw the only logical conclusion: He had come straight to see her. He hadn’t even reported to the CIC to let the command team know he was alive. 

“You should go tell him,” she said. Ben’s smile quirked away and he turned his back against her. 

After taking a few short steps, he shot back over his shoulder, “I will. Now back to work, Specialist.” 

Rey saluted sarcastically to his back.  _ Fracking hot shot pilots.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i need to do a bsg slang refresher?? 
> 
> nuggets: pilot trainees  
> civvies: civilians, people living on the fleet who aren't in the military   
> heads: washrooms/showers 
> 
> i think that's it!

It was never good to start your morning with a one-on-one meeting with the Commander of your ship, whatever your relationship with each other may be. 

Rey had rather quickly caught Commander Solo’s attention when she started working as a deckhand. It was rare to find someone like her, who not only actually  _ enjoyed  _ the gruelling physical labor, but sought out extra projects on top of her own tasks. Rey was first to volunteer for anything. She may have seen it as a mechanism of her desire to rise up the ranks, make pilot, and see the universe — but Han Solo saw her as just a genuinely good person who would do anything to help the Falcon run. 

“Commander.” Rey maintained her composure and held a salute. 

A guard had knocked and showed her into Han’s quarters, before letting the door close behind him and returning to his post outside the door. She had been to his quarters on a few occasions in the time they’d been off-world, after the initial bombings. It surprised her every time, but he had taken to asking for her strategic suggestions or her opinion on various social issues occurring on the ship. Militarily, she couldn’t make any particularly enlightened suggestions, but she knew planes, particularly old planes, and could sometimes come up with outside the box ideas that Solo applauded. 

“At ease,” Han replied quickly, with a wide smile. Rey relaxed instantly. “I don’t want to hold you up. Knowing you, I’m sure there’s a million things you’ve got to do today.” 

Han had a formidable presence. It wasn’t strictly the done-up, military, high collar power of the other high-ranking Commanders or Admirals Rey had seen at various events over the years. It was borne out of that, but he breathed familiarity, comfort, and a bit of,  _ well, _ old-school coolness into his office. 

“I have a favor to ask you.” 

Han was seated at his desk. It was in its usual state of “organized chaos,” as he described it. Papers were scattered everywhere, brown paper files were beginning to form a tower, and a tall bottle of Corellian whiskey stood proudly on the mahogany. Rey wondered if the whiskey was leftover from his stock before the war started or if he’d bought it at a markup in the past few months. The crew had started drinking some sort of home-brewed moonshine that made Rey want to moon-vomit. 

“It feels like every week we lose another pilot. Paige Tico was one of my best. As you know,” he continued. Rey nodded, feeling the sting of Paige’s death freshly. She tried to push those thoughts away whenever they arose. It was too hard to remember them, the pilots who never flew home. It was easier to repress, to close doors, to forget. 

“We all miss her on the deck,” Rey spoke for the first time since she had come in. She preferred to listen when she was talking to Han. “Especially Rose.” 

“Yes, of course. What I’m getting at is that we’re in the middle of a war, a losing war right now, and we need pilots. We’ve been going through the civvies’ files to find any potential there, but we’ve also been looking at our own crew. Now,” Han continued, the beginning of that squinty smile on his face. “I know for a fact that you used to mess around with the flight simulator when you thought no one was looking. But I’ve got eyes everywhere, kid. And I heard your scores weren’t half bad.” 

Rey searched Han’s eyes to see if he was suggesting what she thought he might be. Her stomach lurched. She hadn’t thought much about flying lately. It was strictly on the backburner when there were so many planes in need of constant repair and so few experienced technicians. But to take Paige’s spot... 

“I won’t apologize for that. And I scored higher than half your pilots!” 

Han smiled widely. “I thought you might say that. So? Any interest in being one of the first nuggets trained in space? You know what that means. We don’t have simulators up here, so your first time will be for real.” 

Rey couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She was practically glowing. It felt like the galaxy was in the palm of her hand. A light of hope in the darkness of war. 

“I’m in.” 

They shook hands on it. Han provided a few brief details about when and where to report. 

“I’m gonna get an earful from the Chief when he hears about me stealing you away,” Han added. 

Rey blushed a little. She rarely heard compliments about her work, even from someone like Han. They were so busy with the war that he rarely had time to check up on her work nowadays, unless a comment filtered down from Snap about needing a specialized part. Truthfully, she would miss getting her hands dirty and spending hours under an X-wing. She even loved the parts of the job everyone else hated, like stripping old junkers for parts. 

“Rey, there’s one more thing.” Han cleared his throat. For the first time during their conversation, he looked slightly awkward. His fists crumpled around a loose piece of paper on his desk. 

Rey’s eyebrows knitted as she anticipated whatever catch was going to come with her dream job. Or maybe they were rationing water again? 

“Ben is going to be the flight instructor for our first crop of nuggets. We just don’t have anyone else with the experience.” 

Rey swallowed, a little thickly. Ben was going to be her teacher. He was going to usher in the new generation of the Republic’s fighter pilots. There certainly were jobs he was  _ better  _ suited for, to put it lightly. 

“I’m sure he’ll be great,” she squeaked, knowing they were both thinking the opposite. If there was anyone on board the Falcon with more firsthand knowledge of Ben’s destructive tendencies than her, it was his father. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” A bit of humor returned to Han’s face. “That’s all for tonight. You’re dismissed, Rey.” 

Rey nodded and saluted quickly, before turning back to the door. The same guard let her back out. All of the emotions she’d been suppressing during her conversation with Commander Solo started to flood back to her. She was finally getting her dream. Unfortunately, there was no pay raise involved, considering they’d been spacebound for several months and the economy was nonexistent. Still, she’d be flying. And frequently at that. 

She continued down the hallway in long, quick strides. Rey was picturing herself wearing a Falcon flight suit instead of her usual bright orange get-up. Rose would be so excited! Sure, she’d be working even crazier hours and probably hopped up on stims, but this was  _ flying _ . Adventuring across the galaxy. Saving people! 

It was an awkward time of the day, in terms of the crew’s schedule. It was a bit too early for the rec room shenanigans to begin and the cigar smoke to start siphoning through the air. Rey figured it might be a good time to sneak in a shower in one of the heads before they got too busy. She wasn’t a prude and would just as easily shower when it was busy, if she had to. But anyone would take advantage of a potentially quiet room to squeeze out an extra minute or two under the hot water. 

Rey picked up her pace. 

Rey pulled on the door to the head that most of the officers used. Usually, her and the other deckhands used the one closer to the hangar bay, but there were no hard and fast rules. 

She must have been coming in a little too hot, to use pilot lingo, as she almost came face to torso with Ben Solo, wearing considerably less than his flight suit. 

Rey fought her impulse to squeeze her eyes shut, because she was a grown woman who was able to talk to a man who had misplaced his clothing. 

She hoped she was wearing a congenial expression, but honestly she wasn’t sure what her facial muscles were doing. She hadn’t ever actually seen Ben without a shirt on. Even during the few months that they had slept in the same room, he’d always been dressed and looking slightly  _ too  _ well-groomed. She may or may not have admired his biceps when he was in his casuals, but she was hardly the only one guilty of that. 

“Ben. Hello. Captain,” Rey spat out, sounding somewhat more antagonistic than she intended. 

Ben seemed to be carefully controlling his face into a mask of impassiveness. It was a face he often showed to the other pilots, but usually he struggled to maintain it in front of Rey. He had a towel loosely gripped in one hand, secured at his hip, and offering a modicum of decency. His long, dark hair was dripping wet and curling around his neck. Rivulets of water travelled down his impossibly wide, space-tanned (which is to say — incredibly pale) chest. 

Rey’s eyebrows rose a bit higher than normal. 

“Rey,” Ben said, his voice low and gravelly. “Something tells me you’ve been to see His Highness.” 

“Yes,” she agreed, putting some more space between them and venturing further into the room. None of the other showers seemed to be running, but she couldn’t tell for sure. She didn’t know if her promotion was top secret, so she had planned to avoid talking to anyone about it until after her orientation. “It’s an honor to serve.” 

Ben ducked his head in a nod. He seemed like he wanted to say something more, but was holding back. 

Rey was torn between being glad he didn’t suck her into a conversation about whatever tortuous drills he was undoubtedly dreaming up or annoyed that he didn’t seem interested in talking to her. 

He walked off to the bench where he’d left his change of clothes out. Rey began moving towards one of the shower stalls. They were completely opaque, no one could see in or out, but it still unnerved her to shower with Ben in the room. It was too... _ intimate _ . Whatever their relationship was, she knew they weren’t  _ comfortable _ with each other. Undeniably, there was electricity between them, a connection. 

Rey was just beginning to pop open the top buttons on her orange jumpsuit when she heard Ben call her name. 

She pulled the door back open and called out: “Yeah?” 

Ben, now dressed in the usual layered tank tops worn by the crew and dark green khakis, walked over to face her. He got a little too close, always pushing her defenses. His face was dead serious. 

“You can call me God, by the way.”    


Rey rolled her eyes and her face split into a dimpled smile. “Yes, sir, God, sir!” she jokingly replied. 

Flight school was going to be hell. 


End file.
